Broken
by Nickolas Blaire
Summary: How the Beach should've happened. Charles is shot and Erik stays, it's hot, tension is high, pain is in the air, and angst ensues. Bonus! A little Post-Cuba! Content warnings: gore and slash. If you don't like it, get over it.
1. Beaches and Bullets

I don't own any of this, although, sadly, I wish I did...

Charles Xavier knew he was a broken man from the second he looked up from the sand. When he opened his eyes he did it suddenly and several times, as if he'd never opened his eyes before. Above his head a bullet whooshed, as if it were very close to his skull. Gooseflesh mounted him suddenly. He blinked his eyes again as the pain came. He tried to kick his legs away from his body, like a man leaping from his back to his feet. Nothing happened. Around them missiles dropped into the ocean, each creating a wave.

Their plan had been horribly and ostentatiously flawed. Xavier had made a good actor, a good teacher, a good friend, a better lover, but he'd made an awful rebel. Change comes with a cost, how high the price depends solely of the buyer of revolution.

So, that Wednesday afternoon, the air was pregnant and heavy. Over the hot Cuban sands nobody moved. Moira had dropped her heavy metal gun and Erik had not stopped this. She was covering her face with her gloved hands, already accepting full responsibility for what had so suddenly happened to Charles. Erik only starred, and he had half a mind to turn and walk away, as he had done so many other times with so many other things. But suddenly there was an eruption of noise as Hank McCoy's enormous; cobalt form could be seen sprinting across the beach to where Xavier lay.

There was a gentle breeze and from the ground and Xavier felt it barely across his skull, it teased his mousey hair slightly. But it did nothing to quell the heat of his body as adrenalin rattled his bones. A large blood stain had spread by the time Hank reached him. Taking Xavier's body up in his arms he carefully turned him over.

Xavier screamed and gripped Hank's taunt shoulder, "Fuck Hank! Fuck!" He flailed as his legs began to spasm.

"I know, I know." Hank tried to quell Xavier's agitation but knew that he was doing poorly. Hank began to access the damage, feeling the heat of Xavier's blood begin to coat his knees, "I need help!"

It was then that things began to happen, as Xavier continued to seize Hank McCoy was forced to hold him down. Erik Lenchser held his head and Moira McTaggert held his feet.

"We need to get the bullet out!"

…

Xavier was screaming, and far away from the truth he lay wrapped up inside of his own mind. Just outside the bondage of time Charles Xavier waited and every once in a while he tugged at his imprisoned legs. Just yanking on his right leg, constantly pulling, and thinking about the lack of time and how much may have passed. He found himself obscurely petrified, fearing that soon he should cease to be anything at all and would become something raging without a body. Suddenly, while he had been youthfully unaware of them, he had found Time, and Pain, and God…and he didn't like the company of any. If he was going to suffer, he'd rather do it alone. He imagined himself grinding his teeth and trying to kick his legs away from his body. But there was more imagining than he would've liked to admit…nothing could be done for it. Then Xavier allowed himself to scream and it was loud inside of his own head. The act shook him.

…

What brought him back of course was Hank pulling the bullet from his spine inside of the body of their destroyed jet. He awoke to his own hollering and to Erik's arms across his chest. Moira asked when Recuse would arrive. Charles Xavier woke in a pool of his own blood.

"You've done good, Chap," Charles muttered gently as Hank passed him, his fur matted in blood.

Hank started to see the Professor awake. Xavier's face screwed up into a grimace of pain, Cuban light streaming in through the ruined glass windows.

"Professor," He knelt so that Charles could better see him, "I've managed to stop the bleeding, but-"

Charles could hear Moira pacing. The grind of her boots on shattered glass was apparent. His head hurt too badly to read Hank's mind, although he could sense Hank's agitation.

"But what?" Charles asked slowly, beginning to shift but crying out in pain.

"First of all, don't move. Erik?" Hank looked over, outside of Charles' line of sight, "Come here please, and lift the Professor's legs, I want to clean the blood up."

Charles coughed, wondering how much blood he had lost. He swallowed as Erik moved passed him. Erik's form thin and tall, the man was forced to stoop under caved sections of metal.

"Hank, please." Charles demanded, watching as Erik lifted his legs, his feet awkward looking and crooked. Charles tried to help him with the weight of his legs, but couldn't.

"The bullet," Hank explained from somewhere below him, blue shoulders working, "transected your spinal column."

Charles tried the word on for size, "Transected…you mean I'm paralyzed?"

Erik swallowed, hard. Charles watched his throat. Watched his collar bones. The German's complexion was perfect.

It was then that Erik's dark eyes fell upon him, "I am so sorry, Charles."

...

Voices drifted in and out of the metal. The sun was falling. They would have to stay the night. The tension was too high for the American's to reach the beach. The international affairs were as problematic as Charles' legs had become. On the thin foam seats they'd tried their best to make him comfortable but the pain was unbearable, so numb he swore his body was slowly drifted off to sleep. Waves of thick, wasted neurons shook his spine.

"Erik?" Charles mumbled slowly.

Everything in the universe had become a tasteless and dilatory soup.

"What is it?" The lanky man turned on his heels. He'd been staring distantly out at the sand.

"It wasn't your fault."

Erik scoffed.

"It's true, my friend." He grimaced.

"Just don't talk, Charles."

"Then," a beat, "then just come over here."

Erik removed the dented helmet, his brow streaked in a fine layer of dust.

_What is it?_

_Nothing._

_Lire._

_Look what I've done to you._

And all the while Erik moved closer, sinking to his knees, until their proximity was breathless.

_Erik, look what've we've all done to each other._

_That's just like you. _

_Human nature is a tricky thing. _

_Drop the act. _

_I'm afraid. _

Charles' amaranth eyes were on him.

_I know, Xavier, I know you are. _

_Not for myself. For everyone. You've seen firsthand what we are capable of. I'm afraid for you, for the children…_a beat…_for the future. _

Erik felt a burning lump climb his throat. He thought he could be sick with shame. He hung his head and believed that Charles must be something apart from them. As if he'd consecrated their trials, Erik cried. The scene was markedly sour and arduous.

_We all endure, Erik._

_How can you not think of yourself? You may never walk again. _

Charles said nothing. But Erik knew that he had already known that. Mourning has a heavy hand.

_I've got my mind. _

Erik looked up to make direct eye contact. He smelt the pain on Xavier's breath. _And what a beautiful one it is. _

And then of course, Erik kissed Charles.

...


	2. Windows and Wheelchairs

...s_ometime later. (i.e. it's been awhile, inevitably Post-Cuba)..._

His eyes moved to his legs infirm as Erik's tapered fingers pressed furiously on the soft leather of his chair.

"Don't touch me," Charles intoned, but when he finally dredged the courage to meet Erik's gaze their proximity became breathless.

He feels suddenly as if he was smacked and looks away. He begins to think of Erik wrapping himself up around him, the way it used to be. Everything had become an exhausting task. Meanwhile he smells the metal of Charles' chair and sinks to his knees, placing his head gently on Charles' legs. Erik's touch vanishes. Charles

winces.

Erik manages, "I'm sorry for what I've done to you."

Charles doesn't move as Erik slips his hand gently beneath Charles' cotton shirt, it fills with air from the window and gooseflesh mounts Charles' skin.

"Please," Charles tries aphetically, "it scares me."

Suddenly Erik's hand stops its caress as he feels the deep scar tissue that lines Charles' back. Erik fingers it for a few moments then cringes.

He gropes for Erik's hand and seizes it, "I'm lucky I've got this much," Xavier says remorsefully and shies away.

Erik's hand begins to move again and finally reaches his neck. Where he looks to Charles and pulls him toward himself until their lips are nearly touching.

"Do you remember?" He lists, "Do you remember me?" Erik's breath reaches his skin and a shiver races down his spine and disappears.

"Of course."

Erik's mouth was provocative, his fingers trembling and confused. He shifted to his knees again as he pressed his lips to Charles' forehead. Then he allowed her lips to meet his, Erik leans as far into him as he could. To Charles his breath sounded of eternity.

"I love you," Erik manages, climbing onto his chair with him, spreading himself to either side of his atrophied legs, "I love you."

The window above them let in some pale and intrusive light as Erik pulled the clothes from his body and Charles'. Very slowly, with a gradual rocking motion, they slid backward until they met the wall. Where, as any cautionary tale told of human tongue, they became one person wrapped in a bundle of skin and neurons. Nothing had been so fierce before, apart from pity, they made what love they could.

...end...


End file.
